


Along for the Ride

by Muonna



Category: Fallout - Fandom, Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Fallout, Fallout 4 - Freeform, Fluff, Ghouls, I am a sinner, NSFW, Smut, Then smut, there's minor plot related spoilers in this read at yr discretion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-08 13:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5499176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muonna/pseuds/Muonna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of short, smutty vignettes about our female Sole Survivor, Pol, and her relationship with the coolest king of the zombies, Hancock. Multi-Chapter, ongoing, short stories all slightly linked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. There's A First Time for Everything

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written smut in a long, long while - about 3/4 years in fact, although I guess I used to be a prolific writer. Just not on here. I've played way too much FO4 and fallen madly in love with Hancock, so I'm kind of producing a series of thinly linked fanfic, some will be fluff, some angsty, some smut. All will feature my FSS.  
> My first fanfic in about a year, to be honest.

Pol had been having nightmares, recently. They'd never really gone, so in this case, recently was “the past 5 months of being out of Vault 111”, and a long five months they had been. Of course, it was not surprising considering everything that had happened but that didn't make it ok, or pleasant, nor something that she wanted to put up with every night. She had mistakenly believed she had locked that bit of her away, deep away inside of her, but here she lay with tears in her eyes, fear in her heart, and memories she had long wanted to forget. She was sick of the nightmares.  
  
Nightmares that left her shaking in a cold sweat, that choked her every night and didn't let go till she awoke with a scream on her lips, sore eyes and the taste of bile in her mouth. Nightmares about the mushroom cloud, all choking dust, ash and shock wave. Her last vision of her past life, sheltered as it had been, of an orange glow and the hot air shrieking at her as she sunk down, her husband's words washing over her.  
  
“Honey, I love you”.  
  
Nightmares of how her last memory of her husband was of him dying in a Cryo Pod whilst she banged on glass till she bled, screamed his name, then was silenced once more; only to wake up and see him, eyes shut mouth agape, blood splintering his chest. Blood shouldn't look like that, all shards and pointed angles, frozen in time as it was. It was as though he had never stopped bleeding She was too late. And Shaun- no, she didn't want to think about him.  
  
Nightmares about what Nate would think of the woman she'd become: of her shooting their son, running around with strangers and no place to call home, the huge lifestyle change from suburban mother with a law degree to sole survivor with a modded Pipe Pistol. How he'd be upset at her for moving on, for finding love and companionship, for loving someone other then Nate. Especially, all things considered, a man the polar opposite of Nate. Nate, serious to a fault, military career, hero with a medal of honour; contrast that with her current beau, a drug-using, freewheeling mayor with a penchant for bad jokes and ever worse flirtation. Part of Pol's guilt was thinking she preferred it like this.  
  
Tonight was a chilly night at Red Rocket, her settlement of choice. Outside it was silent, no Strong's incessant “tinker tinker tinker, Strong bored!” as soon as someone so much as picked up a wrench, no Cait itching for a fight, no Piper demanding everyone build her a new Printing Press. The only noise the rasping breath of her lover and the dull hush of trees swaying in the wind. She lay back into her straw pillow, and thought on the last few months and how she had come to be here.  
  
One of the first things she'd done in the Commonwealth was to get a haircut – she had practically ripped out her sleek bun, replacing it with an elegant but not so formal loose style, all twisting half-ringlets and oh-so-slightly tussled. She preferred her hair down, and it kept the sun off her neck. She had kept her natural colour though - deep red brought out the fire in her eyes, Nate had always said. But she'd wanted to be something unrecognisable to herself. She couldn't stand to see the same woman staring back. That woman, Polly, had lost everything. That woman hurt and mourned and cried, that woman had screamed when she killed her first raider, she missed her husband and her child and she hoped it was all a bad dream. She still had his ring, and at that point had tied it around her neck, a reminder of what she was fighting for. Who she was fighting for. Nowadays, it belonged to someone else.  
  
But it wasn't who she wanted to be – a hero, a survivor, someone who others could look up to, who would help the helpless and heal the hurt. Only this way could she, in her own way, redeem herself, even if it was just to prove to herself that she could. So she changed her style, became Pol, the sole survivor, the woman out of time. Fit for headlines, inspiration, whatever.  
  
The second thing she'd done was paint her face black, lined her eyes and forehead with black paint. Not only to help her blend into the shadows, where she waited, shooting down enemies with lethal efficiency, but it also served as warpaint. A mask to hide everything but the newly formed scars that clipped her pout, her brow, and the deep gash in her nose where a raider had sliced her with a machete right before she had shot his kneecap out. Truth was, she couldn't stand to look at herself. But now, Pol was different, she was still powerful with words as any talented lawyer should have been, but now equally as tough with a pistol or a wink. Pol the sole survivor, with her war scars and kind smile - intimidating when necessary, but kind and warm otherwise.  
  
First time she'd met Hancock, he'd taken her face in his palm and turned her cheek to cheek, then tutted. His skin felt rough, like thick callous, but also soft like old leather. It was an odd sensation, soft but rough, tough but kind, one that she had come to love.  
  
"Now what sorta scumbag would do that to such a fine young lady?"  
  
His signature drawl, the inflection on 'scumbag' had gotten to her even then, even if she had been want to admit it she'd flushed, and later Hancock had admitted he hadn't expected her to last the day- they didn't normally. And she'd told him what she told everyone: she was a survivor. alone in the world, her entire neighbourhood dead and her family gone, she had to depend on herself and be an example of pre-war ideals.  
  
He looked at her different after that, with respect, admiration even. Nowadays, his look was different still.  
  
Only she wasn't the sole survivor. Not any more. She had friends in many settlements and from all walks of life, a sort of new pseudo family: the sidekick Nick -although sometimes she wondered if she was more the sidekick-;the dogs; her best friend Piper and her little sister Nat, almost a surrogate at this point. Heck, even MacCready had grown on her though she'd made a mental note never to lend him caps again. Her friends, her new home, people who helped her feel like she belonged in the Commonwealth, these were things she held dear.  
  
And of course, Hancock.  
  
Trim, gnarled Hancock with his lipless smile, confident gait, slender waist and charm. Sexy king of the zombies indeed.  
  
They'd settled, that ragtag bunch of misfits, for the most part at Red Rocket Station. Sometimes she joked it was the poor mans' Goodneighbour; a collection of misfits from every walk of life. Her misfits, her new home, she'd take in anyone from a Vault Tec Rep to Sheffield. Sanctuary held too many bad memories. She couldn't look at the crib, at the bed where she'd slept with Nate, at that damn Grognak comic or the misplaced coffee cup without having flashbacks to that morning. Staring, watching the life ebb out of Nate's deep eyes and of doing the same to Shaun; those eyes burned into her, if she let them. Sanctuary was no such thing for her. So, red rocket was home, with it's shelters, crop field and dog house... home once or twice a month anyway.  
  
The rest of her time was spent scouting, looking for new settlements to aid, recruiting Minutemen, fighting through gangs of ghouls and mutants, scavenging and selling scrap. And who was her right hand man? None other than Hancock.  
  
They had been travelling together a few months, kicking out raiders and camping under the cool night sky when she'd first noticed that look in his eye. The way his gaze dipped and lingered on her red lips or the skin around her collarbones. The way he might slow his pace or offer to carry if she was tired after a long day, or offered to keep watch so she could sleep or cook or just sit in the quiet. He watched her when he thought she wasn't looking, always smiling; she had half suspected he was checking out her ass when he fell behind her. And of course there was that come-on during the Silver Shroud incident, that, yes, she had _technically_ instigated but she had been playing a role. Part of her suspected he had known it was her.  
  
At first she had felt... well repulsed was too strong a word, but the idea wasn't appealing to her to say the least. He didn't look human, heck in her old life so much was taboo, it was why she had married Nate, loved him as she did, she'd gotten knocked up, scared and afraid and so they'd agreed to get married. She'd never regretted it, though but, if anyone had found out she'd have been ostracized. She'd only slept with one man in her life, her husband. Her only kiss prior to that had been Bobby Walsh at Homecoming. She was used to being conservative so why would she be attracted to a ghoul? Pol regretted that mindset now, for obvious reasons. She was, at first encounter, reminded of the zombies in B-Movies she used to adore: films like "Zombie Death Army!", "Commie Zombies From Outer Space!" or "The Walk of the Undead". Of course, he was no zombie, but a caring, kind ghoul who had suffered greatly, a man who genuinely cared about her, and how he could make her laugh...it all reminded her of the bits she liked about Nate, all their differences aside, but in some ways, better. She preferred him to Nate in many respects, and that made her feel guiltiest of all. She knew, hoped, she'd eventually move on, but it still felt like betrayal to her.  
  
Pol found herself enjoying this new life more than she'd expected; the new social freedoms, the experiences she'd never had - drugs, drinking, running for your life from a giant dragonfly. There was excitement to be had, and hell, the worst had happened so how much worse could it get? Humanity had rebuilt and endured. The woman had a sense of purpose; she helped the helpless, brought joy and stability to the Commonwealth, killed Deathclaws with frag mines so that the people were safe. She had lost, perhaps she herself was a bit lost but life was still good and it was inspiring to see humanity keep going as it did of course that didn't stop her from feeling bad. She felt guilt that she was slowly recovering from the death of all that she knew, but then, contrastingly, that she was recovering now, five months on it was nice that she could wake up and think of something other than Nate. But with that feeling came all the others that filled her with heaviness. It was bittersweet.  
  
Hancock's jokes lifted that weight, that burden, as did his friendship, his care. And in that she had found an affinity that only made her feel guiltier for having been so judgemental at first and she had, during those first few weeks on the road, found herself talking more; opening up and discussing their mutual love of justice, their losses, life on the road. Heck, once she'd been convinced, at around the six week mark, to join him on a 'Mentat Ride', as he put it. That night had ended with her realization that her feelings were becoming more than platonic.  
  
The night, some three months back, had been cold but comfortable and there had been no rad storms to cloud up the sky that paired with the lack of light pollution – even with Diamond City the sky was clearer- had given a perfect view of the milky way. They had been camped out some ways from Wildwood Cemetery, in the middle of the woods, a scenic spot, as scenic as post apocalyptic wasteland could be. They'd set up camp, set up a stew to boil, and he'd pulled out a tab of Mentats and offered one over. Usually, she let him trip without her, but curiosity had gotten the better of her- curiosity and that eager smile of his.  
  
It was quite unlike anything she'd experienced before, but not in an unpleasant way. They had sat in mutual silence for a while before she had taken point and coughed and spoke up.  
  
"So, that Silver Shroud... you knew that was me, right?" she had grinned through the haze of a high, feeling more at ease than she had in a while. More because of Hancock than the Mentats. She had pushed her hair back behind her ear and watched his reaction; he had been leaning back, eyes closed and feet crossed, but that question caught his attention.  
  
"What, you were that pretty dame who was into roleplay? I had no idea." he'd grinned back at her, and she distinctly remembered having noticed his gaze dip again. She had, at the time, resisted the urge to undo a button to give him a better view, instead questioned why that thought had crept up into her head. She was sure that, around Hancock, a lot of women felt the same.  
  
"Yeah, totally. Me! So... how'd you feel about the costume?"  
  
That question had peaked his attention and he had turned to face her fully, had almost seemed wary. That night Pol hoped he'd not noticed her trepidation, her initial judgement.  
  
"Well, Pol I'm dressed like John Hancock. I think we both know the answer to that...though I must say, you look better than me in costume". he laughed, but part of her sensed he was being serious.  
  
"Mmm, I don't know about that Mr. Hancock. I've not seen you out of that costume yet..." her voice had been low, the Mentats had taken the edge off of her anxiety and given her the will to flirt. He'd gone quiet for a moment then, then that sly grin returned.  
  
"Maybe you will, sister, maybe you will." his gravelly voice had sent shivers down her spine, and she'd realised, more than the cold air, how he had affected her.  
  
They'd both gone to sleep a little while after and when she'd awoken, she had filled with all sorts of conflicting feelings, that spiked in her chest, clouded her head, created a deep pool of guilt and regret in her lungs, heavy and cloying. Her and Hancock had been on the road for almost two months at that stage and she considered him a close friend and personal confidant. They'd fought Deathclaws, raiders, even a Yao Guai. She'd been out of the freezer for three months at that stage and still missed Nate every day, but, she'd had bonded with Hancock quite a bit, if she had to admit. He didn't bring it up again either and she didn't force the matter, but she suspected he was slightly upset, but she couldn't tell with him, it could have been comedown. He was good at hiding his emotions. Maybe he thought she had messed with him.  
  
She hadn't been.  
  
At that point, she'd never told him what had happened so she'd decided it was time but when it came to it she hadn't been able to. Her hazel eyes had filled with tears, a lump in her throat formed, and then she clammed up. Her ghoul companion had urged her not to force it unless she was comfortable, but she had taken him to the vault all the same, trudging through the Commonwealth in an awkward silence. He had kept his mouth shut and she almost missed his terrible jokes.  
  
Inside, it had taken him a few seconds to understand what was going on. She hadn't been able to look her husband in the eye, had just kept staring at that blank hole in his chest, at the frozen blood, at his fingers. She had stood and stared for a good ten minutes in dead silence, had finally confronted what had happened; it was something she had been trying to avoid, she had changed, she had forced the memories out of her head but at that point, they were forefront in her mind. Her companion's eyes had flickered to her ring finger, then to the necklace, and his shoulders slumped.  
  
"Well, shit. I'm sorry Pol, I had no idea. look, we don't need to be here, we can go. it's OK. you'll be OK."  
  
They left soon after. Pol still hadn't spoken and had instead just kept walking, her hands balled into fists, her eyes downturned toward the ground. That night had been quiet. She'd cooked a soup and curled up in a sleeping bag, all but ready to fall asleep to erase the image of her perpetually frozen husband from her mind and push that awful day away. She could have slept for weeks at that point and Hancock had wandered off for a bit. He had returned with a bottle of Bourbon and some shot glasses scavenged up from an abandoned house nearby and had placed them next to her, with a small chink of glass on concrete.  
  
"Listen sister, you need to loosen up. I know things is rough and this ain't the world you wanted it to be, but we can't sit here moping. We gotta do something about it, and I think you are the best person to do that. You with me? "  
  
It sounded almost rehearsed as he said it, as though this was a speech he'd give standing in the balcony at Goodneighbor but she had appreciated the sentiment all the same, and so she'd taken a glass, and poured shots with him. That night, something inside her had clicked. Maybe it was his roundabout way of caring for her, maybe it was the drawl in his voice, the way she caught his eye, or the weeks where they had travelled and bonded but she realized that she was falling for him. She found him attractive.  
  
He'd told her about his losses as they drank- a wife and daughter-, and she had realized more than ever that he was a kindred spirit. Both with losses, both older than their years and they'd talked the night away and fallen asleep a little closer than they normally might have done, the ghoul had faced toward her, and looking back Pol wasn't entirely sure that he hadn't just fallen asleep watching her. The ghoul had even whispered a quiet 'goodnight sister' into her hair while she was half asleep before pulling the sleeping bag up around her shoulders and retreating to his.  
  
They had travelled as companions to Covenant, through an abandoned hospital and all the way up to the Coastal Cottage where they'd set up camp on the coast for a while. It had taken them around a week, and Pol realized she needed to say something. It had been eating her up inside, and she needed to know whether the glances she caught him stealing were genuine, or whether it was her filling in the blanks. But at the same time she felt as though it had been a betrayal to her husband. Hell, she still thought that. Sure, she'd gotten her vengeance, and her vows were only 'till death do us part', but part of her still felt as though Nate was there. That love was something she couldn't have again. At one point in that mental debate she had decided to take her own advice and had told herself she deserved to be happy now, and that the least she could do was find someone who made her feel safe, made her laugh and relax. Even though he was a ghoul, something about him and his charm made her melt just a little, and had found herself attracted to him. Maybe his swagger, maybe his confidence, maybe his oh so casual flirting. All of it. She had fell for all of it.  
  
That opportunity to talk came a week later- they'd been exploring Salem and the surrounding area for a while and had decided to head back after a few days extra exploring, and had used the cottage as a base. During a routine exploration for supplies a mine took out her ankle, left her unable to walk and she had unleashed a torrent of swears from deep within which had alerted Hancock to it immediately. Hancock had supported her weight, and helped her limp over to the dilapidated structure, where they had sleeping bags, a fire, and supplies to last a week more at least. Couldn't say they weren't prepared- there had been too many near misses. The wind threatened to tear the shack down, and Pol through her pain, made a mental note to fix it up as a retreat, perhaps. The rain leaked through the ceiling, hit the workbench on the way down, producing a rhythmic tap but it was as sturdy a shelter as any, it hadn't fallen yet, after all and the tang of salt water on the air refreshed her. The storm obscured much of the area, but she had known the view was scenic- out over the ocean, and the wastes behind them, it was one of her favourite places in the Commonwealth to date.  
  
The ghoul had gotten a fire started and sat her down in the driest corner, draped his coat over her to prevent her from getting too wet and had scrounged up what he could from the workbench- Stimpacks, bandages, wooden splints. He had looked as handsome as ever to her and in the back of her mind Pol wondered how she had gotten there, in the space of 6 months to go from suburban housewife to dodging bullets and leaping into land-mines. Life was weird like that.  
  
He had busied himself and pulled off her boot, had carefully cut apart her harness so he could get to her ankle. The harness had since been stitched back together, it had been no problem, and he had been deft with his hands. He had probed and poked at her ankle till she hissed and pulled it back, then attended to the swelling. Her foot had sprained, a hairline fracture- she had caught the edge of the blast, luckily, and the worst injury was a cut from shrapnel on her ankle that bled everywhere.  
  
His dark eyes looked concerned.  
  
"Next time you want to walk into a land mine give me some warning eh? Nearly gave me a damn heart attack, thought I'd lost you there..."  
  
He trailed off, dropped his gaze and commenced the patch up her leg. Pol had sat and watched his fingers work in silence. She had been in pain, it clouded and distorted her head. Outside the rain hit hard, and the wind had buffeted the side of the cabin. Caused it to creak and sway, but still it stood, it endured just as the rest of the Commonwealth had. It still endured, Pol visited it sometimes when she needed to be alone. The sky above had blackened – she had seen it through a hole in the ceiling. It had been a long storm.  


"You don't want to lose me? " it came out nought but a hoarse whisper, and her voice had cracked with sadness, exhaustion, pain, but he had heard her and paused to look at her, gave a smile that was uncharacteristically sad but equally a comfort. His eyes had lingered on her face, and she couldn't tell with what intent he looked at her. Then, he had spoken, softly.  
  
"Course not Pol, you're a good friend..." she remembered he had trailed off, far from his usual suave self, and resumed tying the bandage and splint on her ankle before he had injected a Stimpak into her leg, although she had felt the effect of something else – Med-X or Buffout maybe – that had coursed through her veins too. No doubt added by Hancock to speed up the pain recovery. The effect had been nigh instantaneous. Relief flooded the area - though it would be a few days before she would be walking on it with support. She had tugged her foot back gently and rubbed her ankle through the bandage with a sigh, she had thanked him and gently lain it on the floor. Then, her gaze had wandered to his hand, his thin -but toned- arm, his shoulders and neck, and finally his jaw. She hadn't been sure if it was the drugs, but damn she had wanted to kiss him.  
"Only a friend?"  
  
Her lips had curved. Yes, it had hardly been the subtlest of enquiries, but she had been tired, maybe impatient, and definitely a little stoned from whatever Hancock had mixed into the Stimpak. The ghoul had hesitated, then reached up to push wet hair from her eyes, and she remembed how he had looked at her, then tucked her hair behind her ear. His finger brushed against her skin, rough and soft just as she remembered it and the sensation left her tingling, like her nerves were on fire.  
  
"God, I miss hair. I used to have such nice hair..." he paused. "Yours is lovely."  
  
Despite everything, despite her having being chilled and wet and cold and upset from shock and pain and chems, she'd felt a blush creep up under her face paint and was suddenly a lot more glad for it. She had smiled -no smirk, no pout, just a smile-, and he had smiled back. It seemed to reassure him to see her like this and she could tell he'd been really shaken up. Another thing she had felt guilt over.  
  
The ghoul had got up and brought over the sleeping bags, elevated her ankle with one, then settled in the other, and then he had sat next to her, their shoulders almost touching. He had been quiet for a little while, stared out the open door at the storm that had come in, and then he spoke.  
  
"And yes, Pol, maybe not just friends."  
  
Pol, had felt more cocky than usual and she had looked at Hancock with a sly smile. He had gone to push the stray strand from her other ear, leant over her to do so, and she had caught his hand in the process. The Sole Survivor ran a thumb over his knuckle - his fingers curled a little in response and then, she looked at him, turning her head fully to face him.  
  
"How much more than a friend we talking?" she whispered, her voice husky from fatigue and cold and perhaps a little flirtation. The smirk still painted on like the rest of her mask.  
  
A pause from Hancock.  
  
"Well I have been having these impure thoughts..." he never had been one to miss an opportunity to crack wise, that one, but she hadn't minded, though her blush had crept back with a vengeance. He had licked his lips, pulled out a cigarette and lit it up with a deft snap of the lighter, inhaled and exhaled slowly. Pol focused on the action as though mesmerised.  
  
"Maybe we'll get to act on them" and then he laughed his laugh, as though to pretend this was all a joke, that she hadn't wanted to kiss him right then, as if he hadn't feel the same. The laugh that made her shiver. Hancock smiled at her, his eyes lingered a little too long before he pulled his hand back. She had leaned into him and mumbled as she fell asleep.  
  
Pol had slept for a few days, a deep dreamless sleep free of bad thoughts and nightmares, she suspected aided by chems. By the point that she was fully awake the storm had passed and whilst she had been groggy, she had wanted to carry some stuff to move downwind, maybe camp away from shore and the prospect of more storms. Pol handed Hancock back his coat, with a thankful smile. Then, the wounded survivor tested her ankle and found she was able to stand on it alright, so pinned the rest of her harness up her thigh with some Bobby pins so it wouldn't get in the way, and they set off. She carryied consumables, he his shotgun, together they made a right pair.  
  
They walked the road back toward the east and Covenant, towards their overall destination of the highway that lead to Red Rocket. It had been a long trek home via stores and traders to scrap items and buy others, to repair home; their overarching goal in all this was to provide settlements with basics they could build on and sustain themselves with, whilst they travelled between them.  
  
The day was nice enough with a gentle breeze, no rain or rads, though it was overcast. The terrain here was mostly flat, few trees, the overhead highway constantly loomed. it was pleasant though, all the more pleasant for having had a good few days sleeping. Hancock moved up ahead, spurned on by noises, several times, and Pol found herself several times stopping to watch his hips sway. There was unspoken tension in the air, Pol knew.  
  
After a few hours of walking in near silence, Pol had finally got the courage together.  
  
"Hancock?"  
"Whaddaya need?"  
"We need to talk..."  
She paused in her walk and looked at him, standing in the middle of the road, arms folded and he had turned, looked concerned.  
"Yeah, Pol?"  
"I... listen. I like you, Hancock."  
She had paused and dropped her gaze, fiddled with her fingers and stared at the ferns that grew out of the pavement. He laughed once.  
"Was that all Pol? I like you too sister".  
"N-no, Hancock. I mean”. She had, at this point, thought about leaving it at that, but had instead taken a deep breath and continued. “I think I'm falling for you".  
He looked taken a back for a second and said nothing. When he did speak, it had been a joke, or an attempt at one.  
"Shit Pol did I give you too much Med-X? You still high?"  
The woman had looked up at him, all semblance of the cocky flirt gone from her gaze. There had been no shrewd smile or telling pout just slightly nervous eyes and a blush that spread up her neck.  
"And I think, maybe I mean, that you like me too."  
"You're really not pissing around here are you?"  
  
The ghoul holstered his weapon and stepped closer to her, so that he could look into her eyes. She had averted his gaze, looked down, till he tipped her chin to look at her full on, his eyes had bored into her as though he searched for the sign that said this was a joke. "Shit, was I that obvious? " there was a pause and awry grin, and the tension in the situation dissipated as she let out a snort. He hadn't finished however, and, true to form, had been thinking of her. "But, you don't want to be waking up to this every morning." As he said it, Pol remembered with a pang of guilt, he had sounded almost sad, and she knew he had caught onto her trepidation from those first few days. Shit.  
Pol rolled her eyes, placed a hand on her hip, and looked at him.  
  
"I think I do. I'm being serious. I don't care that you're a ghoul. you're a good man, Hancock." She could tell he was taken aback by that, but the grin returned to his face and he smiled, a genuine smile. “What did I do to deserve you, Pol? Shit, karma must have overlooked me." The small woman had smiled in return, then grabbed his hand and pulled him close by his arm, so that she had pressed her chest to his, on tiptoe she had looked up at him, a finger on his chest.  
  
"You are a good man, stop beating yourself up." she had said with a kiss to his cheek, swift and clumsy and then went on ahead, still with a limp but but feeling substantially less sorry for herself.  
"OK, love, lets get this freak show on the road" he had replied, after some few seconds. Pols heart was going a mile a minute, and her blush was back, and she hoped she wasn't coming across too giddy schoolgirl here. She absent mindedly brushed hair behind her ear, and eventually slowed, so Hancock slowed too and walked with her. They talked and it was evident he'd missed company, and she had been all too happy to oblige. They had spoken about their old spouses, their old lives, what they were going to do at Red Rocket and so on.  
  
That night at camp, they ate roast radstag and Hancock pulled his bag over so he was closer to Pol, she lay on her side and he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her in a little closer so he could kiss the back of her head. Payback for earlier, he said. She had smiled, her hand held his, and they slept.  
  
Most of the journey home was like that, although it took them longer than expected; they'd gotten distracted by every ruin, got stuck in a science lab, got caught in several storms, found a new settlement to aid and all the while they talked, flirted, went to sleep together most nights. Nothing more than a few kisses, a few hugs, a lot of flirting. She had been ok with that.  
  
There were a few stand out incidents. At an old abandoned farm they found the place had running water, pumped up from the ground, and Pol had a bath. Her first in weeks. It was only cold and the water only came to her calf, but it had been better than nothing and to her, it was heaven. Hancock had been outside exploring and came upstairs, not expecting to find her in the bath - he opened the door and she screamed from shock before realizing who it was, she had held up a bowl to hide herself. Hancock had just smirked.  
  
"Nice, love, looking good."  
She had blushed and made shifting movements with her hands.  
Hancock raised his own, a gesture of defeat and a grin on his face.  
“OK,OK, I'm going. you mind dropping that bowl first though? I'm missing out he- alright I'm going!"  
She had sworn at him.

To date, no man had seen her naked except for Nate. she wasn't sure if she was ready for that yet, though she knew he'd meant no harm from it. When she had finally climbed out, she'd gotten dressed for a supper of squirrel stew and a thorough mocking from Hancock. Looking at the mirror as she did so, she had paused, before rubbing the warpaint, thick heavy black, under her eyes. This was, after all, who she had become. This was who she was, there was no change to that now. Downstairs had been filled with the scent of stew and cigarettes. Hancock had been sat at a ruined table.  
"Come on you're holding out from me here! I always knew you were a looker, but I had no idea you were that good looking!" he grinned at her, an obvious joke, and she smiled back.  
She felt much more at ease, at that point. He had a way of making her feel comfortable. Just like that. "Could say the same about you, Hancock" she'd replied

That night he held her especially tight, and had kissed the back of her neck, as she had gotten used to.  
There had been more causal flirting, a few kisses, but nothing more. She was nervous and he didn't want to press her, so they took it slow. And now, they were back at Red Rocket - it was a long detour, and then a few weeks fixing up Red Rocket with new shacks and fences, and a whole brand new power room. It had required several trips to Trudy to replace the basics.  
  
More importantly, Pol had built them a shack of their own. Two floors, two beds, sofa, TV, safe. built out of scrap wood and cloth, with a view looking out over Concord. Nothing special but a place for them to come to if they needed it, and she felt proud to have built it.  
  
That shack was where she lay now, panting and sweating after another nightmare, sheets bundled up around her in knots, hair messed up. Hancock lay fast asleep next to her, completely dead to the world. Pol felt around in his pockets for a pack of cigs, and took one, softly padding away from the bed to the window, where she could light it and smoke. She didn't smoke often, but she was a stress-smoker, and tonight she was very stressed. The dream was not one she wanted to remember. It was the dead of night, her head throbbed, her scars ached, her heart hurt. she tried her best to shove the thoughts of the dream from her head, exhaling smoke in one smooth motion. She stared out at the night sky, the distant horizon, planning their next move, if only to occupy her head with thoughts that weren't about Nate's scream.  
  
She felt him before she saw him, a hand in the small of her back, rubbing her comfortingly. Normally she would have protested, him seeing her in nothing but panties and a shirt, but she didn't care tonight. Didn't even turn to greet him.  
  
Just let his voice wash over her, gravelly, low, soothing.  
"Whats wrong love? Dreams again?"  
  
Of course he knew about them, she'd told him, only so he would stop worrying about her tossing and turning in the night. He had kept threatening to get her checked into a doctors for rad poisoning, thinking her fever and pallid complexion to be the beginnings of a toxic dosage, so she had been forced to. And it had worked to a point, except that he now knew when she was having them and worried either way. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, far from it, but she didn't want to show Hancock her weak side, the bit of her that was still Polly.  
  
She nodded in response, wiping tears from her eyes with the butt of her palm and exhaling another smoke cloud. Hancock moved a little closer to her, kissing the top of her head, taking the cigarette from her fingers to have a drag himself, and then passed it back and stood there, staring out with her. She still remained silent, finishing up her cigarette and flicking it aside in one motion, then she turned to him.  
  
"I just, I feel guilty... like I'm betrayi-"  
Hancock shushed her. She pressed her head to his chest, closed her eyes, focused on his voice and the warmth of his skin – he was surprisingly warm, and she swore she heard the dull thud of a heartbeat, but she had no idea if ghouls even had heartbeats. She'd never asked, it wasn't exactly polite and she didn't really know whether she wanted to know. He was real to her, irregardless of such things. He spoke, his voice soothing, steady, and sexy all in one.  
"You're not a terrible person, far from it love. I've never met anyone like you, who gave as much of a damn as you. Look at what you've done out here! Ways I see it, moving on is bound to happen eventually, it's just a case of who. And it's me".  
  
She stopped in the middle of a tearful inhale and nodded instead, feeling safe in his arms. The moon shone bright tonight, another clear night, and in the distance trees swayed, lights flickered in far of settlements, she could just about see the Vertibird in the rooftop and the Drumlin Diner from this way-point, up on top of Red Rocket where she'd built their shack. He smiled, that kind reassuring smile. The urge to kiss him returned, but she wanted more than kisses tonight, she wanted him.  
  
Without thinking, she pulled him down by the lapel into a soft, full kiss. The one thing she'd never done - it had been hand, face, neck, only up till this point - her rules, not his, but he politely obliged her, and had been patient. For all his flirting he was a patient guy. She'd wanted to, oh god had she wanted to, but hadn't been sure of how to do it or when the right time was.  
  
And so she kissed a ghoul. He didn't return at first, which sent her heart hammering in fear but then she felt his hand tighten against her waist, pulling her closer and pressing her body to his, as if he didn't want her to pull away. She kissed him, slowly, her hand on the back of his head and his curled into her hair. After a few second, she pulled away and went to apologize but Hancock pulled her back in for another before she could even speak. He kissed her softly, needfully, eagerly, as if he had been waiting for her to try and do that. She didn't even think about it fact he had no lips, just kissed him back as hungrily as he was kissing her. She hadn't even noticed the warmth spreading through her body till it hit her stomach, pooling in her lower body and sending shivers of pleasure thrumming through her body, the beginnings of one-hell of an arousal. She pulled back from Hancock momentarily, to look him in the eye and catch her breath and smile. A nervous one.  
"What's wrong love?"  
"Its just that I've never done this before, I- I mean i have just not with anyone but Nate..."  
Hancock smirked and kissed her again. He still kissed her softly, but deeper too, as though he was testing the waters. She felt a flush creeping up her neck to her face, and the warmth spread, and suddenly it was as though her skin was on fire, and his touch was enough to set it off. It was enough to make her weak at the knees.

"What, kiss?" He grinned, pleased with himself and his terrible joke.  
She tutted, slapped his arm playfully.  
"Oh you know what I mean, Hancock." "Oh, you mean the rough and tumble, so that's what you're after, eh?” He paused and brushed her hair from her face, looking down at her, nervous as she was. She nodded. “Don't worry, I have enough experience for the both of us, maybe I can teach you a thing or two."  
Pol pulled him in for another kiss and his hand dropped to just the top of her ass, the other pulling her in closer. She kissed him long and deep and found herself getting more wet with each passing moment, and it only just occurred to her how long it had been since she had had sex-. By this point, 5 months, and she hadn't really gotten around to anything else, she hadn't had time or energy. Damn, no wonder she was going crazy. Hancock sure knew how to drive a gal crazy and she wanted him. She moaned a little against his kiss, hoping he'd take the hint without her needing to embarrass herself by spelling it out- luckily for her, he did, grinning against her lips.  
  
Hancock pulled away and lead her back to bed, laying her on the mattress and kissed her again, once, before moving his mouth to her neck. He lay a series of kisses along her, leaving her with raggy breath and a dampness developing in her panties. One of his hands moved to her waist, to support her as he pulled her close, and his other went to work brushing against her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, eliciting a moan from her. A deep blush formed as her eyes snapped open, to the sight of Hancock smirking down at her. He ran his thumb across her nipple again, and she gasped. He captured the noise with his mouth, kissing her softly but eagerly, pressing a finger to her nipple and softly rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. Pol moaned into the kiss, eyes fluttering shut, and Hancock laughed, pulling away, and kissing her ear. Then he whispered, right against her neck, in a way that drove her crazy.  
  
"You're in good hands here love, don't you worry", and as though to prove a point, he brushed her nipple again. Another moan from Pol, a soft, breathy one that heaved her breast and left her panting. His mouth went again to her neck, this time his hand worked under the fabric of her shirt and he gently pressed his hand to her breast, kissing her neck and massaging her slowly, gently.  
  
She sighed and moaned, legs tensing as she became more aroused. It had been so long, she hadn't even really touched herself, and she hadn't realized how turned on she was, how much she needed this. She wasn't even sure Nate had touched her like this. Her face flushed, and she moaned, biting her lip to try and stifle the sound as her partner sucked gently on her neck, then moved on to rubbing her breast. Hancock kissed her deeply once and then licked her ear as he spoke.  
  
"Its a crying shame nobody has treated you right in a long time. You deserve better, beautiful woman like you. You deserve all the special attention in the world, I'm just glad its me that gets to give it. I've got catching up to do."  
  
His words made her so hot, sent her pussy tingling and her chest tight, which seemed to be the desired reaction. She pulled him in for another kiss, pressing her tongue into his mouth. It was his turn to moan, a deep throaty moan that only served to make her wetter. She kept kissing him, needing more, even as she felt his hand slide away from her breast, down her stomach, to her panties where he rubbed her through the cloth and felt how wet she had become.  
  
"Looks like someone really needs this" he smirked, pushing aside the thin fabric to expose her lips. From there he slowly penetrated her with his fingers, slick with her by the first inch. He managed to slide inside her knuckle -deep, and from there, curled his fingers, sending a jolt of pleasure through her body, and she moaned loudly, his name sliding off her tongue with each breathy pant. He took this as a good thing, and gently moved his fingers inside her, pulling out slightly to fuck her with his fingers, egged on by her content sighs. He was watching her reaction as he pulled and pushed his fingers inside of her, fingers so wet that it was no trouble at all. Then she noticed the erection pressing against her thigh and moaned even more. She imagined Hancock moving inside her, hips grinding against her as he fucked her, and that thought sent her over the edge. She came hard, hips bucking against his hand as she panted his name.  
  
"Wow, already? Love you gotta pace this..." he said, smirk betraying his happiness at the result. Still cute, even when she was in the throes of a great orgasm.  
She was about to roll over, thanking Hancock, when he interrupted her, hand on her shoulder.  
"Oh no, here's a lot of tension we have to work through here. Let me do my thing, love, I promise you'll have a good time.”  
Pol was tired as it was, and half heartedly began to protest, until she realised just how horny she was, how much she wanted this man in front of her, how much she had missed intimacy and being with someone and falling asleep next to someone she'd slept with. Still, she pursed her lips and was about to say something, before he interrupted her.  
"Listen doll, you came after 5 minutes. You need more of that. Let me help."  
Pol considered, and then pulled him close for a kiss, deep and passionate, wrapping his lapels around her hand and moaning into it, she leaned into him, into the kiss, savouring the feel of his skin against hers.  
When she released him he grinned.

"Yeah that's what I thought " and his hand dropped to her panties again, thumbing her clit and kissing her neck. Then his mouth dropped lower, to her collarbone, and she shifted comfortably, another moan on her lips, she was ready to enjoy herself and let go, she had decided. He trailed kisses down her shoulders, to her chest, to her stomach, before he finally stopped just above the band of her panties. He kept applying small kisses, and rubbing her clit slowly, and she panted and moaned, grinding her hips against his face.  
  
"Hancock please " she panted, voice breathy and full of need. She felt him smile, then he pulled her panties aside and went to work.  
  
He ran his tongue along her pussy in long, agonizingly slow strokes, eventually reaching her clit, where he gently sucked on her, whilst fingering her slowly, teasing her. Pol was moaning more and more, his name a song on her lips, bucking her hips underneath him and grinding against his face. Hancock even groaned a little against her, which felt even better, and he continued eating her out, enjoying her moans. She wasn't a quiet one, and his name was always at the tip of her tongue, always what she sighed out. Then, he slowly licked his way back down to her entrance and ran his tongue along her, slowly, before burying his face in her pussy, moaning against her and sending waves through her body. Fuck, this felt good, and she said as much, whimpering as his tongue worked against her, as he tasted her, as he ate her out. His tongue moved against her, slowly, and she could feel another build up. Hancock wouldn't let go until she had come, his hands grasping her ass and pulling her closer, he pressed his face closer and ran his tongue softly against her, rubbing her clit. It was all too much and she finally came, bucking her hips with a yell, and boy, she came hard. His name, again, came to her lips as quick as you like, which seemed to satisfy him.  
  
Hancock had barely come up before Pol pulled him over, and rolled so that she was on top of him, straddling him, she began to remove her shirt, so he could get a good look at her chest – he cupped her in his hand, and squeezed gently, thumbing her nipple again. She looked down at him, lust lidding her eyes, and purred.  
  
"I had no idea I could feel that good. You enjoying yourself?"  
She felt his cock throb underneath her at that, and smiled, a languid smile. The woman put her hand to his face, stroking his skin as she gazed down at him. Hancock gently sucked on one of her fingers, then her breast, causing her to moan once more, before he replied.  
  
"What, love, making a beautiful woman moan my name? What's not to love?" he paused, and then added "besides you really needed that, you got two hundred years of pent up sexual frustration to work through and I'm more than happy to oblige".  
  
Pol paused again, and moved her hips against his slowly, a full body movement, prompting him to gasp, a little whimper.  
"Do you want me, Hancock?" she said, voice low and husky as she moved against him once more for good measure. He looked up at her, hand sinking to her waist to steady her. He absent-mindedly moved his hips against her a little, craving that feeling once more.  
"Sister, I thought I was doing just fine till tonight, till this, now I know if we don't do something, I'm worried the stress on me will turn me feral.” He was, of course, joking, and Pol tutted, moved against him again, and he groaned, a throaty, needful groan.

Pol moved her hand down, working to undo his shirt so that she could splay her fingers across his bare skin. She so missed skin-to-skin contact. His skin felt strangely smooth, a little waxy, but not unpleasant and the survivor decided she liked how it felt; unique and interesting just like him, and she moved her hand down as she started to move her hips slowly against his. She began tracing her fingers slowly down his chest, till they reached his trousers, truth be told she was enjoying being on top, moving her hips slowly against his, watching his reactions to her touch. There she teased the skin just below where his bellybutton would have been, but all that remained was a slight dimple. He was gasping, nails oh so slightly digging in to her skin, as he hungrily kissed her back. He was a much softer lover than she would have thought, but she liked it. And she was determined to make him cum.  
  
Then she dipped a finger below his waist band and slowly, slowly touched his cock, just with the one finger. It felt ridged, more so than a non ghoul one, but more importantly it felt hard, and hot. She undid his trousers, slid them down and worked her hand around his cock in one fluid motion.  
  
He was average human size, which was no complaint of hers, and he felt incredibly hard. She stroked him slowly, languidly, pressing her finger to his tip made him moan, a noise she quite liked hearing, and she did it again. Then, another stroke. She moved a few more times before stopping, making him whimper, as she removed his coat, so that she could look down at him.  
  
God, he was handsome. Thin and sinewy, but muscular in his own way, and his waist, oh god his waist. She'd been staring at him for weeks, especially the sway of his hips. She licked her lips at the sight, more for him than anything, and Hancock moved against her. She gasped once, his name coming to her lips without so much as a prompt, purely to tease him. It worked, and he moved against her again, with a smirk.  
  
Pol moved back in kind, gently touching his cock with her hand whilst grinding against him, then she leaned down and kissed him again, finally moving so that she was not only straddling him, but riding him. At this stage, she was so wet that it didn't matter so she slowly moved herself down onto his cock, the ridges giving an unusual sensation, but not unpleasant, in fact, it felt really good, causing shivers of pleasure at her spine, and another moan escaped her parted lips. Hancock's hands moved to her waist, and he guided her along his cock, helping her ride him. She moaned again, and that prompted him to do it again, nails digging slightly into her skin. After a few more movements, she was sat on him fully, and she lifted herself up and rode him slowly, reveling at the pleasure that shock through her body.  
  
Her ghoul lover watched himself disappear inside her again and again, his breath throaty and slow. Her eyes were closed, face turned up to the ceiling, mouth slightly ajar, and she was moaning as she moved against him. She was a sight to behold, riding him, illuminated only by moonlight, her skin almost glowing from it and her hair glinting that firey red. He bucked his hips against her a little and gasped, and she joined him.  
  
“I'm not going to lie, I need this.” She responded, moving herself a little quicker now, her breath coming in quick, stolen pants. “I need you, Hancock.” Her breath was coming in quick bursts, her voice low and sultry, but she meant it. Not just the sex, she needed him, all of him. His jokes, his care, heck even the occasional Mentat couldn't hurt. But more than that, she needed his companionship. He smiled at her, and she paused, to lift, and then kiss his hand tenderly, and he stroked her face, running his fingers along the scar gashed into her cheek. He, and she, knew they could have removed it through surgery, but he liked her as she was, scars and all. He didn't need to say it, she could tell by the way he was looking at her, the old sap.  
  
Still, Pol couldn't resist being a tease, and she paused to look down at him. He moved his hips against her eagerly, wanting more of her than she would give.  
“You've been a gentleman tonight, and I'd like to repay the favour.” Her voice was a low, sultry hum at this point.

“Damn, maybe I'll have to be less of a gentleman next time, see what that gets me, eh?” He grinned up at her, finger absent-mindedly stroking against her soft skin, and she smiled down at him, grinding against his hips, sending another jolt of pleasure through her body. He moved his hips against her slightly, gently, letting her do most of the work – he was clearly enjoying the show. It didn't stop him from putting a hand up to her breast and cupping it, gently, then a little rougher as she rode him a little faster, finding her rhythm and going with it.  
It didn't take her long till she was on the edge again, and Hancock watched her with excitement in his eyes.  
“Shit, I'm close.”  
His voice was husky, low – well lower than usual -, and Pol took it as a firm success that she was able to bring him to this point, so she picked up the pace a little more, riding him a little harder and a little faster. She definitely didn't have it in her to cum any longer, but it sure as hell felt good, and her pants, little whimpers and moans mixed with Hancock's increasingly vocal swearing. She paused, and he took that opportunity to pull her in for another hot kiss, she parted her lips and let him kiss her deeply, her hair plastered to her forehead from the sweat – half an hour of straight riding would do that – and she moaned against him more, and then he pulled her close, grinding his hips against her, and thrusting slowly, till he couldn't take it any more. He came with a loud grunt, leaning into Pol as he emptied himself inside her, laying there for a few moments simply staring up at her.  
  
Pol considered herself fully, and adequately satisfied, although after almost half a year without anything, she was sure it would only be a few days before she was ready for more. The nightmares had been thoroughly pushed from her mind, and as she climbed in next to her lover, she kissed his cheek.  
“Thank you, Hancock.” she whispered. He replied with a gentle, sleepy kiss to her cheek, and a grin.  
“I should be thanking you, love” he replied. “You're the best damn gal. I'm glad I'm here.”  
He paused, and nuzzled her neck, and the two of them drifted off. Outside, the wind picked up, but inside their little shack, Pol finally had a decent night's sleep.


	2. A Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pol and Hancock need a break, after taking down the Institute and spending all their time rebuilding. She decides to take him out to the coast, to where it all began, but a rainstorm scuppers their plans. Small amount of smut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a smaller update for over the Christmas period whilst I get round to writing more etc. It's kind of unfinished in some respects, but makes enough sense etc to post. Uh. Yeah.

The two of them got stuck in a rain storm somewhere between Tenpines Bluff and Salem, trekking through a part of the country they knew so well but that looked so unfamiliar amidst the eye of a storm. Pol had decided, after a few weeks on the go between various settlements stocking and building up cabins and defence, that she needed to get away, that they needed to get away. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the work, she did- there was satisfaction to be had in it. Though, it was hard sweaty work that Hancock was too happy to aid her with. They’d been on the go for months now, rushed off their feet by the Commonwealth and all it had to offer. Protecting settlements, rebuilding the Minutemen, hunting ferals and collecting scrap to scrabble together new items with. It had been tiresome but it had been an adventure. The Sole Survivor had decided they needed a break - she’d decided to take him up to the coast, maybe for a few days. They couldn’t be away for long, there were people who needed them. Maybe in another life, she and Nate would have made the same journey, the only difference now being the debry and irradiated sea. Perhaps it was an empty romantic gesture, perhaps it was sentiment that should be stamped out in this newer, sharper world, but… the emotions kept her human, kept her grounded. What were humans if they locked away their emotions? Preston was keeping an eye on everyone back home, and she had her radio tuned to Radio Freedom in case any emergencies came up.

And by her side, the coolest ghoul in the Commonwealth. And in her opinion, the hottest. She’d said as much with a smirk, before. He’d told her to get outta here. He was the one with bad jokes.

And that was why they found themselves stuck in the wastes, far out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere east of Wildwood, when the storm hit. Amidst the trees, picking Hubflower and stalking Radstag, it had been peaceful, if quiet. She’d heard the rumbles first, the tell-tale stillness, the hush of clouds moving in and then felt the first drops. Not unwelcome, considering the heat, but not exactly pleasant either. Too muggy and humid for rain. It hadn’t taken long for her to get soaked through, hair plastered to her face, clothes sticking to her skin, uncomfortable and itchy, feet drenched and boots leaking. The trees offered some protection but not enough, the storm continued, and she was desperate for shelter. It was her luck that she’d taken to storing spare clothes in plastic containers. It made them grubby, sure, but it meant she had something warm and dry to get into once they found shelter. If they found shelter.

Hancock’s voice cut through the hush and lull of rain hitting foliage.  
It still gave her butterflies. It had been 3 weeks since that night, obviously a few more since she’d confessed her feelings and she hadn’t looked back. The nightmares were still there but she felt safer, more relaxed.  
His voice his scratchy, commanding voice.  
“Hey sister, look, much as I love being soaked to the bone its hard for me to find a light in weather like this. We should find shelter.”

The underlying worry hung in his voice, but she knew not to comment at this stage. Hancock liked to worry, liked to check up on her, she was sure he took her other companions aside to fully illustrate his concern and care for her. None had looked too phased, so she’d never followed up on it. And, with this rain, Pol had to agree. Her hair clung itchy to her skin and she was beginning to feel the cold. she could feel it crawling up her legs. Out here, in the middle of nowhere, cold was not something you wanted to catch. They were days from the nearest doctor, more if she got weak with fever and Med-X only went so far.

They trekked a little further through the beginnings of muddy puddles , through underbrush and climbed up a sheer embankment towards what looked like a promising site- a lone cabin, up on a hill. Where she could check the Pipboy for directions, start up a fire, cook up a meal and set up camp to wait for this storm to pass. She hated walking through storms, and this was supposed to be time for the two of them. They’d better start using it.

Hancock was quiet, but she didn’t mind; she simply presumed he disliked the rain. He got up the hill first, offered his hand to help her scramble up but she was first to open the door.

It opened with no fuss but a lot of protest, and inside the shack was bone dry, surprisingly. It was a wooden thing, sturdy and dry, with a tin roof. Rain pattered on the ceiling, the inside held only a table, a chair, a lamp, and the scuffed remains of a campfire. Pol quickly switched on the lamp. The light cast shadows and flicks, an orange glow, across her face and scattered shadows against the walls. She dumped her pack on the floor in the corner and set about rekindling the ashen campfire. It took a few minutes but it was roaring in no time, and Radstag went up for grilling.

She turned, pushed her red fringe from her face, her scarred, burned up face and turned to Hancock. He’d been uncharacteristically quiet and she said as much.

“Call an old ghoul sentimental but I worry about you, Pol.” He flicked up a light for his cigarette, inhaled, then blew smoke rings. Pol watched his lips, the flick of his tongue, and smiled. She was all his.  
“You’re sentimental, Hancock.” She grinned, “I’m fine, just wet.”  
He nodded, “You sure can handle yourself. But, you can’t protect against the cold.” He took another drag, long and slow, then moved over to her, closing in, looking down at her.

She looked back up, slate eyes filled with determination, fire, resolve. A strength in her he’d come to admire . His hand crept up her waist, fingers nipping against her skin, up to her shoulders. She swore he dragged his fingers against her skin on purpose, as though he knew she liked the sensation. His hand moved to her face, to the scars that crashed into her skin, perhaps the only bits of her that felt like him, and he smiled. His warm, slow smile.  
“I still dunno what I did to deserve you, doll. Shit, almost enough to make me believe in some higher power up there looking out for me.”

She smiled back, the only other noise apart from rain was the crack of a campfire, the spit of meat, the hiss of burning oil. A background lul that couldn’t distract her.

“I know. I need you, Hancock. Youre- you’re - well, I dunno what I would have done without you.”

His hand suddenly dipped to her waist and he pinched her clothes between his fingers.  
His voice holding a sudden urgency, he said.  
“We need to get you out of these, you’re soaked. Don’t you smoothskin get colds off of anything?”

She laughed, batted his hand away.  
“I know, figured we needed a fire first though. I cant get dressed in the dark. You should change too, I’m not sleeping next to a wet ghoul.”

“Oh now who said anything about sleeping?” His wry grin returned as he said that, flicked the butt into the flames, and pulled her close.  
“You’re wet from rain, lets see if we can get you wet from something else too…” he trailed off and Pol slapped his arm playfully.  
“Thought we said no more bad foreplay jokes?” She grinned, and his hand dropped to her ass, squeezing slightly.  
“Oh you’re no fun!”  
“Oh? Well, I could be…” she smiled, pulled his hand harder against her ass. He gave her another squeeze, then dropped his hand, guiding her with him.  
“Come on anyway, lets get you out of those before you catch a cough.”

Pol, feeling flirty, pulled him closer and kissed him softly. The ghoul had forgotten how nice her kisses tasted, how soft her skin was compared to his. A perfect contrast. He kissed back eagerly, and Pol closed her eyes, focusing entirely on the sensation.

They hadn’t had much alone time recently, what with settlers and building and such. She’d enjoyed the night they spent together though, and a little bit more of her wanted more. She, did, however, break off the kiss, a shiver skittering up her spine.

Hancock’s hand moved to the clasp of her chest piece, and he pulled it open, dropping it to the floor. Pol paused, and an idea bloomed. She smiled, a wry smile that twisted her scarred mouth, and shook her head.

“Nuh huh. I’m undressing for you. Sit down.”  
The beginning of a protest stirred Hancock into speaking, and she hushed him again.  
“I’ll be fine for 5 more minutes if you sit by the fire.”  
A frown curled his brow but he obliged, sat down next to the fire on the one chair in the shack. She followed, straddled him and sat in his lap. First she unbuckled her armour, leaving her only in her clothes, still wet, clinging to her frame, highlighting the soft curve of her thigh and stomach. Sitting by the fireside was warmer, and she could slow the pace.  
Her clothes were a skirt and a button up shirt, an outfit of her own design, ripped from two others. Maybe not practical but not exactly where she’d always wear either. She’d wanted to look nice and that had definitely been a good call

The Ghoul sat, leaning back into the seat, and she wrapped her legs around him, pressing herself closer and undoing one button. Her collarbone was visible now, and he looked at her, eyes skimming the edge of her top, with hunger.  
“You being a tease there?” He said, voice raspy and low and, she could tell, oh so slightly turned on. She grinned a wide grin and undid another button, shirt sliding open to reveal just the top of her breasts. She felt her lover strain against her, and then his mouth went to her neck, planting kissed along her. His skin rough, his kisses soft. He ran his tongue along her collarbone, pulling her head back slightly to gain easier access to the bottom of her neck. There, he sucked on her skin a little, hand moving up to cup her breast through her shirt. That was where she stopped him, albeit breathlessly.  
“Patience, mayor. You’re too used to getting what you want.” Her voice a breathy purr. He groaned. She took it as a good thing, and leaned back, opening another button.

Her breasts now fully visible through the curve of the material, she knew he was watching her. His eyes tracked her fingers and he wasn’t cracking wise like he usually would, just quiet, bated, tense. She could feel the beginning of an erection pressing against her, and she’d barely done anything.

The fire was drying her out a little, her hair almost dry now, drying into tiny curls and ringlets that Hancock pushed away from her face, so he could look at her.  
“Damn, you’re a catch” he whispered. She blushed, undid another button.  
“Ah, I bet you say that to all the girls sat half naked in your lap, mayor.” She put a particular emphasis on mayor, her red lips curved into a smile and the beginnings of an arousal pooling in her centre.  
“Surprisingly, there ain’t been many as of late. Only you, Pol.”  
And again, he kissed her, wrapping his fingers in her hair and pulling her close. Her top slid from her shoulder as his hand worked away underneath the material, gently pulling at her nipple and rubbing her breast. She moaned against him, leaning into the kiss, pressing her bare skin to the fabric of his coat. It was his turn to pull away, with a smirk. She wouldn’t betray the fact that she wanted more, even though she couldn’t bear to stop kissing him.

But, she exercised some restraint and leaned back, undoing the final button of her top to let it split down the middle, her skin peeking out from beneath the folds in the fabric. She also pulled her skirt a little up her thigh, and Hancock rested his hand there, thumb rubbing at her skin slowly, in circles, edging up her thigh slowly. She pushed his hand away just a little, and he rested it against her mid-thigh, squeezing gently, digging his nails in slightly, just enough that she could feel it. The woman then tossed her head slightly, hair messing in the process, and gazed at Hancock. He leaned in and his lips went to her neck again, and this time she let him kiss her, a small moan escaping from between her lips. She allowed herself to close her eyes for a few seconds, leaning into his kisses and focusing on the sensations, the shivers, that they sent down her body. Then, again, she pushed him back, lightly, her hand against his chest, and took her turn to undress him. She started with his collar, running her finger down the small section of bare flesh there, then hooking her fingers into the button-loop there, popping it out. She continued in much the same way till his whole coat had been unbuttoned, his chest bare.

He took her pause and reached out, pulling the side of her top down, down along her shoulder, her arm, till she was sat with one shoulder on, the other off, freckled upper arms bare. She grinned and leaned back, biting her lip for effect, and looking at her lover intensely. He didn’t say anything, just kissed her, but she could see the need in his eyes, feel it in his kisses.

On a whim, she leaned in to him, pressing her skin to his, her had creeping up the back of his neck to pull him close. These kisses were hotter, heavier, more needful than the others, and he eagerly reciprocated. As her fingers brushed the brim of his Tricorn, she decided to pull it off, and wear it herself. Hancock didn’t protest. Which surprised her. Her hair skewed, haphazard out from underneath the brim, and all he did was brush her fringe aside.

Then the ghoul moved to kiss her again, tangling his fingers through her hair and pulling her close. His hand moved down her thigh to her knee, where he got a good firm grip in, and lifted her. She supported herself with his legs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding on tight but she had no fear of being dropped. His mouth was at her neck, kissing her softly there, and her walked the two of them to the table, laying her down on the edge. Pol kept her legs wrapped around him but let go of his sinewy shoulders, instead steadying herself on the dirty plastic table

Hancock paused, pushed a stand of hair from her face and repositioned his hat atop her head.  
“There we go, perfect” he drawled. She, again, blushed, but smiled all the while.  
“I was going to take you out to the coast you know - for a getaway, it just, with the storm…I told Preston we’d only be a few weeks max.” She sounded worried, disappointed even.  
“Now why’d you do a thing like that?”  
“Well, we’ve been working our asses off. I kind of wanted some alone time” -“well we’re certainly getting that”- “and I. Well…” she heaved a sigh. “Pre=war you’d go to the coast for a holiday or whatever and… I know its probably not as nice at all I just thought.” She stops, wrings her hands, looks away for a moment. Hancock pauses, a small smile on his lips, then brings a hand to her cheek.  
“Its my turn to call you sentimental I think.” His thumb sweeps across her chin brushing against the scars, against her lips. Her scars were his favourite bit of her, the bit of her that reminded him of himself, that made her her. She closes her eyes, raises her hand to his, enjoys the sensation, the skin-to-skin contact. Ever so slightly she leans into his hand.  
“You don’t have to do these things for me Pol, I know you care.” Pol nods but says nothing, eyes still closed. “But thank you. Even if we don’t get out to the coast, we can enjoy ourselves here. ” he stops with a grin and leans in close for a kiss.  
“Oh I have every intention of -” she began, but then his thumb brushed against her clit and the only other noise she could make is a small moan, fingers arching on the edge of the table. Hancock grinned as he leaned in, fingers slipping past the thin material of her panties to slip inside her, where he moved his fingers against her arching body. She was moaning again, her breath in pants, chest heaving, and he teased her for only a few moments. By the fireside it was warm enough to not have to worry about clothing, or being naked in a rainstorm. The Radstag could wait, if they wanted it well-done, which they did. There was nobody for miles around, just the sound of Pol’s moans, the rain, and Hancock’s breathless kisses.


	3. Renovations and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is catching up with Pol, the events of the past half a year causing her to slump into a slight depression. She throws herself into her work, neglecting Hancock, who notices and decides to do something about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short filler-y chapter setting up the plot for the next few chapters. No smut, just character building for Pol, and a little for Hancock. Next chapter is on the way and I have about 3-4 more planned. Smut comes later.
> 
> Sorry the quality is a little eh, I'm experiencing a slump but don't want to disappoint. 
> 
> If you want updates on how I'm going with the next chapter, and possible fic ideas etc, follow me on tumblr. My blog is Lindiranae.

Their visit to Coastal Cottage had gone well- there had been Radstag Stew, a few night of passionate sex, and cuddling under the stars. Least, when it hadn't been raining. They'd chatted, smoked, drank, relaxed a little. Although, Pol had forgotten just how quickly the Mirelurks could breed and they'd found themselves clearing out the crustaceans from the settlement more than once so the holiday had been cut somewhat short. Somewhere inside Salem, the constant tat-tat-tat of a rifle had been rather distracting from the overall hush of the ocean, the trees, the quiet. The lone Rook must have also been hard at work. But, she didn't mind about the surplus of Mirelurk meat they now had to roast over the fire. In her head, thoughts constantly churning despite the pleasant circumstances, and so it was with eagerness that she had headed back to Red Rocket, glad to get back to work; to farming and settling the area. Work was all that she knew, all that she was good at, and it kept her distracted. 

But, since she had gotten back, Pol had found that old guilt creeping back in and she had been doing everything in her power to erase it from her head, to work it out of her system, to ignore it. So, she'd preoccupied herself with work – building up Red Rocket, and the nearby Sanctuary: reinforcing their walls and defences. Ensuring the buildings were water-tight and sturdy against the storms that frequented; working out the electronics and lighting; tinkering with generators to maximise their efficiency and fertilizing the crops. She'd been working herself ragged, rising with the settlers and working through the day. 

Pol couldn't count the bruises and cuts on her hands from work, nor the splinters in her knuckles and a thick callous now covered her fingertips. She barely spoke to anyone. Hell, she forgot to eat unless Pipes or Curie or Hancock brought her food. Deacon and Maccready watched from afar, concern in their eye but not on their tongues. Nick had tried to speak to her about it, she had known he was trying to determine what was wrong but she wasn't talking. Codsworth was with Dogmeat in Sanctuary, but someone had told him and he'd been coming over almost-daily with care-packages, consisting of bundles of sweets he'd hoarded over the years. It was appreciated, but not wanted. 

Pol could feel herself sinking into a deep malaise, the events of the past few months catching up with her, everything that had happened. All the bloodshed, the nightmares, witnessing both her husband and son die in front of her. It took its toll. It was coming to June-time, eight months since she left the icebox, and four since she got with Hancock. She should have been happy, content, but she wasn't, not through any fault of his. So, she worked, she worked through it all to ignore it, ignore the thoughts in her head, ignore the images that woke her up in sweats every night; Nate, shot, her son -shot by her own hand-, Kellogg's sneering face. All of it haunted her dreams.

Pol felt guilt, missed the old world, the old summers – the beach-trips, the time spent relaxing on the patio, the lemonade. (Deezer's just wasn't the same). It was June, though season was hard to discern in the 'Wealth, that same clammy, sticky heat that endured, and Hubflower bloomed year-round so, there weren't even any spring flowers. But, everyone said it was summer and that was enough for her. It was slightly warmer, that much she could tell.   
For Pol, it had been just five years ago at this time of year, that she had been getting ready for senior prom, that she'd gotten into university. All that had been on her mind had been choosing the right dress, the right corsage, trying on shoes and hairstyles with all of her friends, and her then-beau, Nate. A few years later, she had been studying for her degree whilst heavily pregnant, and even that felt petty and inconsequential in comparison to what the world was going through now. Her lawyer skills had come in handy, but not in terms of law. Just in terms of negotiation, people skills, and investigation. Her old life felt so long ago, so lost, that it was hard to remember that only half a year had passed for her. So much had happened. It all felt so … petty, so ridiculous, compared with everything now. Pol was, in a word, exhausted. Not just tired, not sleepy, just fully exhausted. Exhausted of fighting off raiders and super mutants, of fixing up armour and modding her weapons, of bargaining, of farming, of building. 

She'd been thinking about him as she worked, splinters in her fingers. It was as though every time she closed her eyes, Nate's frozen corpse popped into view. So, the sole survivor tried her best to work through that too; nailing boards and securing the roof of the latest building she had built - a small shop where she was settling in the Vault Tech Rep to sell food to the people of Red Rocket. It was growing dark again, and her renovations were all but complete. After she'd gotten back from her latest venture to the Drumlin Diner she'd learned that raiders had hit, so she'd been repairing damages, and ensuring that the settlement was more defensible and strong than before. The work had given her something to mull over other than guilt and her old life, the aches and pains in her body gave her a distraction from the ruminations of her mind. But, she was running out of work, and those thoughts were coming back. 

And, she could tell Hancock knew something was off. He sat nearby to her, always, quiet, but watchful, eyes directed at her from underneath his hat, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, dark eyes inescapably intense and ever-watchful. He would work the crops, aiding the settlers and exchanging witty back-and-forths with Mac, but he always came back to check on Pol. They'd been speaking, of course, she was always glad to go to bed with him in it, but they had been talking less. She could see the worry in his eyes when he came to check on her, but she ignored any inquiries, just grimaced, commented on her splinters, and worked. She appreciated it, always planted a kiss on his worn cheek, and he always pulled her in close, held her a little longer than was necessary. 

Their conversations had skimmed across less-meaningful subjects, more small-talk. He knew she was distracted, she could feel it. Occasionally he would help but mostly he watched, as though looking out for signs of what was wrong. Pol loved him, she knew that, but right now she did not feel comfortable accepting it in return. She'd taken a step back, she knew it. It felt petty and girlish to miss prom, to miss the old world, to miss summer as she knew it, but most of all she felt selfish for feeling this way when, all things considered, she had it good. Her friends lived here, the settlers were happy, and she had a lover. Everything was good. But, she couldn't shake the grief, the guilt. 

It took two weeks of this for him to approach her as she sat at a stool in the front of Red Rocket, gazing out at the crops in front, as the sun set behind the skeletal trees. She sat with a small shot-glass, a Dirty Wastelander made for her by Cait. It tasted strong, and burned on the way down. In a word, it was just what she needed. Her fingers were calloused, and rough, and bruised, and her body ached, but the work was done. There was nothing to distract her from the thoughts in her head, except her ghoul lover. 

Said ghoul lover had slid in beside her, an arm around her waist, husky voice at her ear. Shivers down her spine. A glass chinked down beside hers, unlit cigarette poised between his fingers.   
“Come on, open up to me love”.  
She took a large sip from her glass. It almost tasted fruity now, not just bitter and vinegary but half of her wondered whether that was just the alcohol talking. Hancock pulled a bottle of bourbon from his coat, set it on the counter. She said nothing.   
“Come on Pol, I know you. An' this ain't you.”  
She paused, considered his words, then nodded and pushed a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. .   
“You remember the night we first fucked?” she said, perhaps blunter than usual, but the intent was there.  
Hancock smirked, poured himself a shot, and nodded.  
“Yeah, I remember. How could I forget Pol? You looked so damn cute.”

His words made her heart skip, even now a smile tugged at her lips and she felt herself loosening up enough to talk to him. He made her feel safe, even when she felt lonely.  
“I've just been thinking on old things again, same as then. Nate. Feeling guilty again, you know. It's stupid, I'm going in circles. I have a good life here I just, I feel... I feel... this isn't. I never thought life would turn out this way...” She stopped talking and knocked back her drink with a hiss, dabbing her mouth on the back of her sleeve.  
Hancock sighed, sipped from his glass, then mirrored her gesture- knocked his head back and downed it in one. Pol watched, and poured herself another, but didn't drink, just swished the drink in her glass, staring into it. 

“You're feeling guilty about falling for someone else aren't ya?”  
Pol nodded, lips pursed.  
“It's not just that, John.” Her voice wavered there. She rarely used his proper name, she preferred his nickname, as did everyone in that respect. He noted that, sighed deeply, ragged in his throat, “I miss, I miss my old life. Not all of it, and I wouldn't change this, I wouldn't change meeting you or rebuilding the Commonwealth, hell I wouldn't even miss” -and her voice cracked here, the first time she had broken when speaking of it -“what happened to Shaun, or whatever, I just. There's bits I'm remembering, stuff I'm missing.”  
She takes a small sip, and a smile tugs at her lips.  
“Five years ago, was prom. It was summer, I was just getting my scholarship for university. I was so worried about what dress I was going to wear, I poured through every catalogue, every dress magazine, for weeks trying to work out what I wanted. In the end I settled on a powder blue dress, it had polka dots. It was...” she paused, then laughed “it was hideous, looking back on it, but at the time I was so happy. I wore my hair in ribbons and. It felt nice. Even though there was a war, even though Nate had enlisted and was shipping out in a few weeks. I just didn't care. We spent the day at the park, with picnics and milkshakes and then danced and it was ...nice.”

She took another sip the alcohol loosening her tongue more than she had intended. They had been through this before. Hancock had lit up a cigarette and was smoking – he exhaled and sighed with it, smoke curling round him. He remained silent, took another drag, then spoke.   
“And you miss, what? The old world? The prom? Nate?”  
Pol looked at him, surprised that he was even asking. Of course, they had been through this before, during those long nights spent walking through the 'Wealth; the nights by the campfire or huddled in rain, the nights where they dropped a Mentat or two and sat chatting, when she was falling for him. And, they had spoken of it since. Hancock did his best to understand, but a bit of him was unsure of what to do- after all, everything she missed was stuff he had run from and consoling drunk patrons of The Third Rail only gave you so much experience. It wasn't that he didn't care -he did- it was that he didn't know what to do. She could almost sense the hurt in his voice, and of course it hurt him. He loved her, and though he had left a wife behind some many years ago, he was fully committed to Pol and she understood this; it was her who was stuck in the past, not him. 

She turned to him fully, pushing his glass down with his hand, her fingers pressing to his knuckles, squeezing gently. He looked at her, then back to her hand.  
“Hey, Hancock.” she paused. “I love you. I might... miss some of it, but you, I wouldn't change you. Not even the face.” she punctuated this with a kiss on the forehead, against his rough skin, skin she had come to love and he chuckled at that. “I don't miss Nate, much. I feel guilty for everything but, mostly I...” she trailed off again, thinking on how to phrase this. “I think, I just miss how simple things were. At the time it felt so big, so scary, with the war and the threat but at least Deathclaws didn't exist. Now, now, its like...” she ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. “Now I'm the leader of a faction rebuilding two hundred miles of land, my boyfriend is a glorified zombie, my son is a synth and I go to sleep with a knife under my pillow...”

Hancock paused, then finished his cigarette, flicking it aside and turning back to her. He took another sip from his glass, then took her hand in his, pulling it to her chest.  
“You're stressed, doll.” he said, and Pol realised that was the problem. Hancock was right. “You're stressed, and we've had breaks here and there but it's been work, hard work, all this. I know how exhausting it is holding this community together, building it up from the misfits and the fuck ups.” he paused, and kissed her fingers, eyes twinkling. “You're doing good work here Pol, I wouldn't be with ya if you weren't. I'm proud of you.”

Pol blushed, bowing her head for a moment, as though she were a bashful schoolgirl again, a smile tugging at her painted lips; she hadn't realized how much she needed to hear that. Hancock continued speaking, brushing his mouth against her fingers.   
“You've been working non stop for weeks now, love. You're wearing yourself out. You can put yourself into the work, sure, but don't lose yerself in the process. You've barely been here.” He paused, and Pol glanced at him- he pushed her fringe from her eyes, and smiled, that smile that always made her feel like it was going to be ok. Suddenly, everything welled up inside her. She felt like crying. He was right, of course he was right. She was distracting herself with work, with building settlements and ignoring the little niggling problems in the back of her head, she was running from the guilt, from the pain, from the stress, just in different ways. She had been losing herself in work, in splintered fingers and oil and digging in crops. The redhead blinked rapidly, looked away, looked down at her feet.

“I just. Everything that happened. Nate, and Shaun, and all the raiders and all the change. I just don't know what to do with myself. This world is so different, this isn't what I thought I would be fighting for.” Pol felt her voice crack, and tears spilling from her eyes.   
Hancock paused, then pulled a surprisingly frilly handkerchief out of his pocket and dabbed her cheeks.   
“Hey, hey darling. It's ok. Shh.” he pulled her into a hug, and she buried her face in his chest, fingers splayed against the material of his jacket, eyes screwed shut. She felt safe in his arms. He could protect her.   
“Sorry I've been so distant” she whispered, into his skin.  
“Its ok, you've been busy. You're still here, I'm still here. I'm not skipping out on you and I damned well ain't letting you do that to me.”   
She chuckled, but it came out a hiccup.   
“You just need a break, dollface. Hows about we go to Goodneighbor for a week or so, I'll show you a good time?”  
Pol paused, considered his offer, and nodded. Hancock kissed the top of her head.   
“I'll get some stuff sorted then we can head on over. It'll be nice. Just, relax Pol. I'll look after you.”   
She smiled against him, despite herself, and realized this was something she needed. A break.


End file.
